


a united front

by metalbending



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:38:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9059920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metalbending/pseuds/metalbending
Summary: feyre and rhysand attend an event. rhys, the bastard, has a sexy gift for the night backfire on him and must deal with the consequences.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bullroars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bullroars/gifts).



> a hybrid birthday/christmas gift for [hal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bullroars/pseuds/bullroars). this is all your fault, queen of recommendations that will destroy me. i love you so much.
> 
> there's some facsimile of a plot floating around here. meanwhile, hybern never happened and everything is so super chill and normal. SO SUPER CHILL AND NORMAL.

The black silk gown settled in ripples on the floor, moving like night with every step. Feyre turned in the mirror to admire it, and herself a bit. The front was conservative, wrapping around her neck. On purpose, she would have figured, until she caught the full glimpse. The back plunged downward, exposing a scandalous amount of skin, tapering to a close above her hips. It was sinful, truly sinful, and without a doubt meant to show her off.

She didn’t find she minded much.

This was to be her first major public appearance since it was announced to the Night Court that she was High Lady. Perhaps it was the public’s acknowledgement that had sent Rhysand back on edge, harkening back to when they cemented themselves as mates. He practically reeked of territorial bullshit every moment since the announcement. The thought sent her blood stirring.

 _Wait right there_ , he said through the bond, the sense of a wry smile slipping in her head accompanied by the definite image of pearls.

 _Oh?_ she thought as the door to their bedroom opened. She whirled on him and froze. Rhysand filled the door, his suit nearly as dark as his magic. His power and wickedness filled the room, stroking her senses and setting her pupils wide. There was a large, black box in his hands.

“Before you say anything, it’s not jewelry,” he said as he crossed to her. He sat on the bed, indicating she was to join. “Open it.”

She took the box, hesitant. If it wasn’t jewelry, what in the world was it? The box was luxurious soft black velvet, matching their ensembles. She peeked in and saw the strand of pearls surrounded by more black silk.

“I thought you said it wasn’t jewelry,” she said.

“Well.” There was the smirk. “Nobody will see it. Nobody will even know it’s there but us.”

“You picked out this dress, Rhys. A necklace goes over the dress so it can be seen.”

He took the box back and opened it all the way, picking up the strand. “It’s not a necklace,” he said, fully displaying the piece. “And I certainly don’t want it to be seen by anyone but me.”

“A thong?” She tilted her head with a wicked grin, playfulness spreading across her face. “A pearl thong? Are you sure?”

It wasn’t that Velaris was dangerous. Wards were in place and checked every 8 hours while their court scoured for danger, and unknown to boot. Their reign was strongest here, surrounded by understanding and appreciative citizens, but she wanted to make an impression. The fae needed matching pillars of strength and surety as rumors of the King of Hybern swirled.

Rhysand groaned deeply and leaned back. “I’m sure I want you begging before the night’s over.”

She let out an incredulous tut, kissing her teeth. “We’ll see about that,” she said knowing full well if she wasn’t, something had gone wrong, but she’d try to resist.

Rhys pulled her on top of him, hand lingering at the back of her head, fingers playing through her light curls, and tugged. Her whimper only strengthened her resolve to make it through the night.

 

* * *

 

 

The performance was a story about ancient Velaris. It was beautiful, but Rhys distracting her before she left meant Feyre forgot to discharge a small amount of her power. That, combined with the stiff backs of the seats set her fidgeting. She estimated they were only about a quarter of the way through the performance when she scooted forward to stretch her back and, merciful Cauldron, she’d somehow forgotten about the pearls in her stillness. The softest sound escaped her mouth as she cut her eyes at her bastard of a mate, who was staring dutifully ahead, only the slight arch of an eyebrow giving any indication he’d sensed what happened.

 _Insufferable_ , she sent down the bond.

Laughter echoed back at her, Rhys’ face pressed into a tight smile.

She went to sit back up, the thong brushing against her, rolling along the string holding them together as she moved. They were placed alone on a raised platform as the honored guests. Feyre looked around, trying to gauge whether she could get away with releasing a bit of her power surreptitiously. They were high enough up, she supposed, and someone would have to be looking their way anyway. It was more than likely considering security, and they probably wouldn’t care if the evening was disturbed, so to speak, if only they and Rhysand knew.

She had made up her mind, shifting again, dammit, to slowly manipulate the air behind them, as Rhys caught her wrist. He looked down at her, mildly scolding. “Oh, no, no, no,” he whispered, leaning into her ear. “You wouldn’t want to be rude, would you?”

Flames practically danced in her eyes at the denial. “It would be wind, Rhys,” she snapped back, shoulder dipping towards his mouth as she tried, and failed, to move without moving her lower half. “Nobody would even know.”

He breathed into her ear ever so lightly, eyes shining bright and nearly matching her own. A deep shiver ran through her, and Rhys’ breathing hitched so hard he cleared his throat. “Don’t get restless now,” he teased into her hair and down her neck. Feyre bit her lip so hard she drew blood.

At intermission they stood, Rhys wrapping an arm around her back. He pulled her into a chaste kiss, aware that eyes were on them as the other attendees glanced their way. He grinned wickedly at her. “Enjoying the show?” he asked, keeping her in conversation as the area cleared of people.

“Damn you, Rhysand.” Feyre stretched out her back, leaning against the nearest wall hoping to adjust the thong with some modicum of subtlety. She felt an embarrassing amount of wetness between her legs as she moved and prayed to the Cauldron that it wasn’t obvious to anyone who would see her backside.

Rhys pressed himself against her, casting a quick glance to ensure they didn’t have an audience. “You are wearing black. I wouldn’t worry too much.” He bit her earlobe as his hand moved up her thigh, sliding across her ass. He squeezed. “I can get us out of here.”

She scoffed as much as she could and licked his lips, grazing his tongue with hers as she reached and grabbed for him through his pants, then pulled away just as quickly. “I’m fine,” she said, willing strength into her voice. “We have to show Velaris, the Night Court, that we are strong.”

“And we will.” He began trailing kisses from her neck to her chest down to her stomach, getting on his knees, and kissing her hip. “But here? They know we’re strong. You showed them in the streets of Velaris, along the Sidra,” he whispered, “that you are a queen. A force to be reckoned with. Don’t ever forget that.”

She threw her head back, moaning through her teeth at that, Rhys still planting kisses along her body as his hands roamed. She was High Lady of the Night Court and had the most powerful High Lord down on his knees. It was all still so new, but despite her relatively low-born human start, the title settled on her with a clear righteousness. She hadn’t ever thought she was one to rule. Rhysand had changed her mind.

Pleasure trickled through the bond. Feyre left her defenses wide open, letting her mate revel in her power with her. He loved when she felt powerful. His mouth was on hers again as she felt a breeze on her legs and a finger teasing the pearls between her folds, the beads pressing onto her. The bastard had lifted her dress while he was down there, distracting her.

“Fuck, Rhysand,” slipped out of her mouth with some volume, not caring if any damned fae were in earshot.

His fingers danced across the slick, sticky thong, rolling and pushing against her clit as he, at the same time, inserted his longest finger into her and crooked directly into the most sensitive nerves.

Her whole body shuddered and her knees buckled. She gasped loudly and reached both arms around his neck, desperate for support. Head swimming, she thought she might black out until she realized Rhys was wrapping them in night, shrouding their deeds in secrecy. She purred.

“Mm, just like the first time.”

A flashback came back to her immediately: sitting atop a throne--no, atop Rhysand--unmated, and so embarrassingly turned on for him, being threatened to be feasted on in front of a crowd. She parted the shadows with her own light and sent an image down the bond.

She and Rhysand, magic swirling through the theater, fucking against this wall as the show went on shifted to her on her knees, giving soft kisses to the underside of his cock, just where he liked it. Whatever was left of Rhys’ mental shields shattered as he moaned and shoved his fingers in her hard, just as she recalled the loudest she’d ever screamed his name and grabbed his immense hardness again. She licked her lips sensually, pleased beyond words that he was solid as stone for her.

Rhys’ breath stuttered as his body instinctively went to grind against her, finding his own hand in the way. She laughed out loud at his frustration. It was deserved, dammit, after being tortured so handily all night and besides, he ought to know what it was like to sit as still as possible for hours. The doors opened and he shielded them again with his magic, growling against her neck. His face showed utter frustration, his brows drawn and teeth bared, and he removed his finger and placed it in her mouth.

Light sparkled and whirled with the darkness as Feyre delighted in her own taste, entranced in the way Rhys’ eyes were positively alight with ravenous hunger. He leaned on her hard, his saliva coated canines gleaming in her magic. “We’re leaving,” he growled.

The Illyrian baby couldn’t hack it, it seemed. Too bad, Feyre thought. Tit for tat. She was clearly the stronger of the two, though she’d be glad to leave. “What’s the matter?” she intoned. “I thought we had to present a strong front to the Night Court?”

“Luckily I have an excuse that will give the same message.”

 

* * *

 

 

Feyre opened her eyes, utterly giddy to find themselves at the cabin. Perhaps, “We have been called away,” was a flimsy excuse but they had been exceedingly apologetic, promising to send flowers to the performers right before winnowing away. She thought momentarily that their scent must have, if not lingered, entirely permeated the theater, but dropped it when she beheld Rhysand, tie undone, black shirt unbuttoned--but only the top three--moving towards her with a glass of wine.

“For you, Feyre, darling,” he said, voice husky as all hell. The fire still danced in his eyes and his body moved so gracefully it pained her. She lifted the glass to her nose, keeping an eye on her mate, and sipped. It was honeyed, of course, so sweet and heady that the strength set her reeling a bit. Rhys steadied her with an arm around her waist and ran his thumb to catch the wetness on her lips. He raised it to his mouth and sucked.

The resulting groan sent lightning down Feyre’s veins. She threw the glass at a window and shattered both.

Rhys swooped her against the wall, pinning her wrist, his feral grin bearing down on her. “You’re just so rude tonight.”

“Do something about it, prick.”

His smoky talons hooked into the neckline of her dress, snagging it and making a perfect line to her navel. She inhaled sharply as he ripped the rest clean off her, leaving it a mess on the ground. He slowly worked his hand towards her center, finally running a finger through her folds.

“Don’t pretend like I’m the only one incredibly worked up, Feyre.” She clamped her lips around her teeth as he teased her opening, stroking just the inside of her, going what must have been just millimeters deeper each time. Her legs betrayed her. She shook slightly, trying to keep her breathing even as he worked closer and closer to the nerves that would send her burning.

Frustrated, she began to consider begging. She wasn’t above it, not now, not when she’d wanted this for hours. Just a little reprieve was all she wanted, needed. She opened her mouth to plead when he dipped a second finger in her, both going as far as his hand would allow, and stroked hard on the perfect spot.

“Rhys,” was all she could choke out, over and over again, and he brought his thumb up to reach the swollen bundle of nerves between her legs. He worked her so thoroughly with his strong hands that she broke around him within a matter of moments, her thighs clenching around him involuntarily, making sure he couldn’t move. Tears pricked her eyes as her body gave out and she began to slide to the floor leaving Rhys to hold her up.

Before she could make heads or tails of anything, he lowered her onto their bed. She gladly sunk into it, stretching her tired limbs, but the break was only temporary. She felt his hands on her ass, holding her up to him as he licked all around her wetness, growling as he lapped her up. His tongue teased her again, running her up and down, no doubt feeling her growing excitement. She reached down to run her fingers through his hair, fingers lightly dancing across his ears. She gave a hard tug when he reached her extra sensitive clit, luxuriating in the pressure he kept on it. He gave a light suck and her hips bucked into his face. Even after the intense process of mating, having Rhys viciously defend her at any slight, real or imagined, she couldn’t believe how powerful their desire was. She’d thought maybe it was supposed to taper off, to settle back into something normal but, what even was normal?

If this was their normal, she could get used to it.

Her fingers came ablaze and she held her hands down by Rhys’ head, shadows playing across his face when he looked up at her. His mouth was utterly glistening. A proud, wet smile graced his face. “Have I mentioned how delicious and intoxicating you are, darling?”

“I think you can tell me again. I promise I won’t mind.”

He crawled up her body, stalking, winged shadows splayed behind him. “I could feast on you all day. Damn Prythian, damn Hybern, damn any meetings, I find I could not care less. I could have you all day for the rest of my immortal life, my High Lady, and never be satisfied.”

She wrapped her hands around his neck, feeling quite satisfied herself, actually, even with the almost unbearable pounding in her core. One sensation could be satiated. The other--the immense pride and love she felt for her mate--she’d rather it constantly reach newer and newer heights. “I love you.”

“I know, I know,” he said. “I’m good.”

She cackled and nipped at his neck, the arrogant bastard. “I could still use more proof.”

“Oh?” He angled his hips, his stiff cock brushing against her leg and making her bite her lip. The tip of him settled at her entrance. “Proof?”

Feyre tisked. She wrapped her legs around his waist, trying not to move too much, and wiggled to make sure he was still poised to enter her. “Proof,” she said, not breaking eye contact, and pulled his body onto hers, making him fill her.

He groaned, grinding in and out of her. “I think that was the sexiest thing you’ve done yet, Feyre. I love you, too.” They laughed and he leaned down to kiss her, grin meeting grin. “My mate.”

“My mate.”

Rhys’ nice, languid movements from the levity quickly became feverish again. A hungry need overtook them both, scents fully merging together as magic flowed through them. Tension spiked down the bond, blind desire flooding them, passing back and forth and melding into an entirely shared feeling. His pace quickened, sweat gleaming on his forehead. Feyre reached down between their bodies, fingers going straight for her clit. She lowered her shields completely, feeding her sensations eagerly down the bond, tickling at Rhys’ shields. He let them down and shuddered, head dropping to Feyre’s chest. “Fuck, Feyre, you feel so good.”

She rubbed herself with one hand and held onto Rhys with the other. Rhys moved inside her, pushing to the hilt. She tightened around him, breath ratcheting up, moaning loudly in his ear. “Rhys,” she panted, “I’m going to come.”

“Then come for me, baby.”

She positively exploded, skin shimmering with starlight, tumbling deep into pleasure. Rhys’ roar brought her back to the room, gasping, and she saw his magic fill the room and give depth to hers. He worked himself through his peak, emptying himself completely into her, giving her everything as he did in every aspect.

He pulled out slowly, kissing her chest and down her stomach, resting his head there. They laid there in pure bliss for a few moments, stroking each other, shadows and stars slowly disappearing, leaving the room coated in average darkness.

“What happened to the importance of a united front anyway?”

He rose to his knees to lay beside her, stroking her hair.

“Feyre, darling, I believe that’s what we just did.”


End file.
